Tj O'Connorhttp://tjoconnor.com
Thriller AuthorSat, 13 Oct 2018 14:50:00 +0000en-UShourly1https://wordpress.org/?v=4.9.9A Day in the Life of Jonathan Hunter-The Consultanthttp://tjoconnor.com/a-day-in-the-life-of-jonathan-hunter-the-consultant/
Sat, 13 Oct 2018 14:50:00 +0000http://tjoconnor.com/?p=3786For those of you who have heard of Jonathan Hunter, The Consultant, I thought you might like to read some of his diary entries that helped me write his first Jonathan Hunter Thriller. Here they are:

Dear Diary . . . Day 1: It’s me, Jonathan Hunter, CIA consultant and world traveler extraordinaire. I arrived home in Virginia today from Afghanistan. It was a long trip and three times I had to change names so my crotchety old boss, Oscar LaRue, wouldn’t find me yet. I haven’t been home in years—a couple decades almost. I haven’t spoken to Kevin, my brother, in all that time. Can’t wait to see him. Rent my car, drive to Winchester, and life will be good.

Dear Diary . . . Life isn’t good. I found Kevin tonight at our old fishing spot along the Shenandoah River. Some bastards murdered him. Worse, those bastards aren’t just murderers, they’re terrorists. What the devil is Kevin doing mixed up in terror? That’s my thing. His thing is being a cop. His last words threw me. They mean something and I have to find out what … Khalifah . . . Not them . . . Maya. No matter. Those SOBs made a huge mistake. No, they didn’t leave any evidence—they blew it up right in front of me. Their mistake was much worse than that . . . they didn’t kill me, too.

Dear Diary . . . It’s started. Kevin’s murder was just the first step. Now, there are attacks coming. I barely made it out of one this morning and I know there are others on the way. I can’t hide from Oscar any longer. Time to get to work. P.S., Diary, the rental car manager didn’t understand all the bullet holes in my car. WTH? I bought the extra insurance!

Dear Diary . . . Detective Bond came to take me to breakfast this morning. Well, not really. He took me to jail. It’s all a misunderstanding, of course. I use aliases from time to time, and sure, I don’t have any proof who I am. None I can share. I gave up my real identity years ago. Oh, and yeah, I have an illegal gun and … I’m sure he’ll understand. Eventually.

Dear Diary … Glad that’s over. Met an old pal while being interrogated by Detective Bond. Artie Polo, from an operation in Saudi Arabia. Remember that one? We were both nearly killed—honest, it wasn’t my fault. Anyway, Artie’s with the FBI now and he’s going to help me out. That is, if I can convince him I didn’t kill Kevin. I gotta look up “obstruction of justice.” He keeps throwing that phrase around at me. That Artie, what a character.

Dear Diary . . . Losing Kevin for the second time is killing me. I came home to mend fences. He was angry with me for fifteen years after I ran off to join the Green Berets and later the CIA. He said I’d end up dead in a ditch somewhere over there. You were wrong, Kevin. You stayed home here, nice and safe, and ended up dead in a ditch over here. What have you done, brother? What did you get into so deeply that you swallowed your pride and called me home? I’ll figure it out, Kev. I promise. No matter what. No matter who. I got this.

Dear Diary . . . More attacks. I’m onto something, though. Everything seems to be swirling around Winchester—this small, Virginia town that is coming to grips with Muslim refugees, terror, and yeah, well . . . me. Kevin is haunting me.
There’s more going on here, too. Some international assassin, Caine, is stalking me. Then there’s this Khalifah—he’s a master terrorist the CIA and FBI have been hunting for years. What are they doing in sleepy Winchester, Virginia? Are they here for a war? Or for me?

Dear Diary . . . The Russians and the Iranians are up to their balaclavas in this mess, I swear it. There are others, too. Too many. I’m going to get dirty on this one. I know it.

Dear Diary . . . Oscar found me. Boy is he pissed. I guess me leaving Afghanistan without permission is a problem. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good thing there’s all this chaos going on around me—unusual as it is, right? I mean, he’s more worried about me finding some rogue Middle Eastern assassin than firing me for being AWOL. At least for now. I sure hope this doesn’t get me shot.

And there you have it. A few of Jonathan’s posts that made The Consultant a fast-paced ride from the moment he returned home to Winchester. Check out the entire story. I dare you.

Note: The above blog post was originally written for, and posted to Brooke Blogs, a great site for authors and readers. Check it out at: http://www.brookeblogs.com/the-consultant-by-tj-oconnor-a-day-in-the-life-of-jonathan-hunter/

We’ll talk again, until then . . . be safe and well.

Tj

]]>The Consultant: Hunter and Me – Who’s In Charge?http://tjoconnor.com/the-consultant-hunter-and-me-whos-in-charge/
Mon, 03 Sep 2018 17:31:38 +0000http://tjoconnor.com/?p=3769 I have been writing since I was in the fifth grade. First, it was short stories about my friends and my adventures—fictitious of course. I never would have survived grade school if I’d done the things I wrote about back then. Over the years, I played with characters and stories and wrote my first full novel right out of high school. The character—the first appearance of a Jonathan Hunter character in that story—struck a kindship with me and a couple survived over the years and made it into The Consultant. Back then, Hunter’s adventures were largely page after page of made-up plots and characters. Today, after all these years teasing out my own life as an anti-terrorism consultant, the plots are a bit more realistic—perhaps premonitions of a possible future—and the characters come from my world. In the end, after thirty-something years, Jonathan Hunter will finally seek his audience from bookstore shelves everywhere. He’s been waiting a long time. And, lord, I’ve been hearing about it forever!

A lot of authors will tell you that once they start writing, the characters take over and write the story themselves. We, as authors, are there for the ride. I’m no different. For Hunter and me, it’s a love/hate relationship. He needs me to tell his stories—The Consultant is the just first in the Jonathan Hunter Thrillers. I need him to relive a little of my youth and perhaps even a few adventures I’d never really had. The trouble is, we both want things our own way. Hunter demands his story be told his way—action, thrills, and laughs all included. He doesn’t like me talking about his flaws, like bad judgment of people now and then, his unluckiness with the ladies, and his flawed story-performance. He’ll tell you those are all in my head.

Maybe they are. But it’s my head and my story, not his. Wow, do I sound a little insane here?

For me, I have rules—well, not really, but my agent, the brilliant Kimberley Cameron and my publisher, Oceanview Publishing, sure do. Silly rules like not too many adverbs (okay, like none if they get their way), and limited foul language. That’s a problem for Hunter. He tends to get “colorful” when he gets excited or pissed-off. Oops, I mean when he gets angry. Other rules like I can’t turn in 150-thousand words—Kimberley rolls her eyes and says, “Wow, a big book” if I near 110-thousand. Does she know how difficult it is to get Hunter to play out a story in under 110-thousand words? I mean, come on! And not a lot of exclamation points. Have you read The Consultant? Hunter needs exclamation points! There’s his commentary about every character, his reflections from his past about this missions or lost-loves, his constant whining about Oscar LaRue (that’s his mentor and CIA boss) who grouses about everything Hunter does. Hunter even has to chase every damn lead down every damn rabbit hole—and most of them are minefields! (Note the exclamation point.)

So, my first draft of Hunter’s adventures are always long—oh, say 120-thousand words long. By the time I type “The End,” Hunter wants a vacation and I need therapy. Then we begin the arduous task of editing down to near 100-thousand words, knowing full well that Hunter will pout and complain and antagonize me into putting a few more “moments” of his back into the story and round it out at around 110-thousand words.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to argue with a fictional hero like him? First, he was a Green Beret. Me, I was a lonely OSI agent and then a consultant the rest of my life. He can take me nine out of ten times. Second, if I cut too much of “his” story, he digs in his heels and screws up my ending. In his first sequel, I edited the first draft down six chapters or more, and when I reread the ending, Hunter had snookered me. The ending was perfect—except how I got there was missing a couple
chapters of action and subplot that I’d taken out. So naturally, I could find a less-than-fulfilling ending, or just put those chapters back in. I wanted to keep them out and try a different ending. Hunter wanted it his way.

Who do you think won?

There is one thing, though, that’s great about my relationship with Hunter. I can live vicariously through him. Can you imagine what you would do if you could re-live some fun vignette of your life? Or maybe make that vignette sexier and more exciting? Oh, hell yeah! I do it all the time.
Now, I’ve been very fortunate to have had an exciting life at times. No, I was never a real Jonathan Hunter (oh, brother, he’ll never let me live that one down)! But I had many adventures over the years in places like Greece, Turkey, Europe, South America, and all over North America. I’ve seen my share of dead bodies, bombings and other terror attacks, and too many outrageous crimes to count. Now, don’t get me wrong. I was never a Green Beret or CIA operative. Nope. I was a military federal agent with OSI and afterward an international security consultant roaming the globe looking for adventure. I’ve been fortunate to have adventured in places and done things most people read about in books. Not Jonathan Hunter-style, but I’ve had a great time. Along the way, I’ve wished for more of those adventures. Some a bit more worldly and sexier, too. In my Jonathan Hunter Thrillers, I steal from those adventures and, well, pad the books a little. Sure, sure, I change the names and places, and often times turn a mole hill into a mountain, but hey, it’s a novel!

Fact is, Hunter is the one who needs therapy. He has this idea these stories are true and based on his past. He seems to “re-remember” adventures almost as much as I rewrite my own. Sure, his are more exciting and daring and “the world is ending” sometimes. But if I’d done what he does in my books, I wouldn’t be writing them. I’d be dead a dozen times over—or worse. Maybe with a grin on our faces, though.

Alas, Jonathan Hunter and I have this love-hate thing going. He wants me to tell you his life’s stories and show him to be the crazy adventurer he thinks he is. Me, I need him to have those adventures and allow me some fond memories—the real and the imaginary.

So, follow Hunter and me in The Consultant and the future Jonathan Hunter Thrillers. Try and sort out who’s telling the story and what’s real or imagination. I dare you.

End.

This Post was originally written for Lori’s Reading Corner on July 22, 2018 at http://www.lorisreadingcorner.com/2018/07/guest-post-virtual-tour-with-giveaway-the-consultant-by-t-j-oconnor.html

It’s spring in Virginia. The birds are chirping, the flowers blooming, and the bad guys are frolicking with terror across the land.

Wait . . . what?

No worries. Jonathan Hunter is back from his world tour chasing spies and fighting terrorists. Hunter’s home in Virginia—to stay. But first, he has to clean up a little mess he found …

CHAPTER 1
Day 1: May 15, 2130 Hours, Daylight Saving Time
East Bank of the Shenandoah River, Clarke County, Virginia

The gunshots took me by surprise and, without luck, might have killed me. The first shot splayed a spiderweb across my windshield before it whistled past my head, peppering glass needles into my face. The second smashed my driver’s-side mirror. An amateur might have panic-braked and skidded to a stop—a fatal mistake. The shooter hesitated, anticipating that decision, and readied for my failure.

Training. Muscle memory. Response.

I gunned the engine, wrenched the car to the left to put more steel between me and the shooter, and sped forward, looking for cover.

My headlights exploded and flashed dark. Bullets breached the windshield. The rearview mirror and rear window were gone. Had I not flinched, one shot would have found my right eye but shredded my headrest instead.

I careened to a stop at the bottom of the boat launch— vulnerable. The shooter was ahead in the darkness, likely maneuvering for another shot. A closer shot. The kill shot. He’d be closing the distance and finding a new advantage.

Luck had its limits, so I dove from the car and rolled to cover behind it. I fought to control the adrenaline and bridle my thoughts.

Easy, Hunter, steady. Listen—watch—survive.

I stayed low and crept along the side of the car, looking for better cover. Spring rain made the darkness murky and dense. The Shenandoah River was to my left some fifty feet. A blind guess. Overhead, two dark spans of the Route 7 bridge blocked what little light there was but provided some cover from the rain. The six substructure supports in front of me might afford me cover. They also afforded the shooter cover. He was hidden and waiting. Still, Kevin Mallory was nowhere to be seen. Under normal conditions—and normal is relative with me—I might have judged the shots’ origins. Driving headlong into an ambush on terrain I’d long ago forgotten, in darkness and rain, I was all but defeated.

Silence.

Easy, Hunter, easy. Count your breaths. One, two, three.

Out there, somewhere, someone wanted me dead.

Worse. I was unarmed and alone.

Jesus. Where was Kevin?

The boat launch was just a small gravel lot tucked beneath the expanse of the Route 7 Bridge across the Shenandoah. At night it should have been empty. It was nearing ten p.m. and I hadn’t expected to find anyone but Kevin. Yet, while we’d been estranged for years, under bad circumstances, I doubted he was hunting me.
Although, I do tend to bring out the worst in people.

Ahead, perhaps seventy-five feet, a dark four-door SUV faced an old pickup. The vehicles were nose to nose like two dogs sniffing each other.

No movement. No sound.

One, two, three. I ran to the nearest bridge support, stopped, listened, and bolted to the rear of the SUV.

Silence. Safety. But something else—a dangerous odor. The pungent scent of gasoline. A lot of gasoline.

I got down on one knee and looked around. The dome light was on and the driver’s door was ajar. Something lay on the ground near the left front fender. A large, bulky something that washed an angry tide of flashbacks over me.

I’d seen silhouettes like that before.

A body.

Bodies look the same in any country, under any dark sky. It didn’t matter if it were the rocky Afghan terrain or along a quiet country river. Their lifeless, empty shells were all hopeless. All forsaken. All discards of violence. The silhouette three yards away was no different. Except this wasn’t Afghanistan or Iraq. It was home.

I made ready.

No muzzle flash. No assassin’s bullet. I crept to the SUV’s rear tire, crouched low, and slithered to the front fender.

The body was a man. He lay three feet in front of the fender and precariously vulnerable beneath the spell of the SUV’s dome light. He was tall and bulky. Not fat, but strong and muscled.

No. No. God, no!

After fifteen years of silence and thousands of miles, I knew the body—the man. His hair had grayed and his face was creased with age and strain. The years had been hard on him. Years he was here while I was forever there. Always elsewhere. He’d built a life from our loss while I’d escaped—run away. He once warned me that my life’s choice would leave me as I found him now, alone and dead. The irony churned bile inside me.

Kevin Mallory.

“Kevin,” I blurted without thinking. “Kevin, it’s me. It’s Jon.”

My mouth was a desert and the familiar brew of adrenaline and danger coursed through me. In one quick move, I leaped from the SUV’s shadow, grabbed his shoulders, and tried to drag him back to safety.

No sooner had I reached him when a figure charged from the darkness toward us. His arm leveled—one, two, three shots on the run—all hitting earth nearby. I threw myself over Kevin. Another shot sent stone fragments into my cheeks and neck. The figure reached the rear of the pickup, tossed something in the bed, fired another wild shot, and retreated at a dead run.

Lightning. A brilliant flash of light, a violent percussion, then a whoosh of fire erupted from the pickup. The flames belched up and over the side panels. They spat light and heat. The truck swelled into an inferno.

The heat singed my face. I gripped Kevin’s shoulders and dragged him the remaining feet behind the SUV. He was limp and heavy. The raging fire bathed us in light, and I finally saw him clearly. His eyes were dull and vacant. His face pale—a death mask. If life was inside, it was hidden well.

The truck was engulfed in flames, and the heat was tremendous. It reached us and felt oddly comforting amidst the spring dampness and dark.

“Kevin, hold on. Hold on.” I looked for an escape.

I saw the next shot before I heard it—a flash of light where none should be—uphill near River Road. Seasoned instincts threw me atop Kevin again. Glass crackled overhead and rained down. I grabbed for the familiar weight behind my back, but my fingers closed on nothing.

Dammit.

I hastily searched him. No weapon. All I found was an empty holster where his handgun should have been. Where was it? In a desperate move, I rolled off and snaked forward beneath the truck’s firelight and groped around where he’d been. It took several long, vulnerable seconds. I dared not breathe or even look for the shooter, fearing I’d see the shot that would end me. Finally, my fingers closed on a wet, gritty semiautomatic.

As I retreated to the SUV, something moved in the darkness. I pivoted and fired two rapid shots, spacing them three feet apart.

Response. A shot dug into the gravel inches away to my left.

Rule one of mortal combat—incoming fire has the right of way.

Retreat. The flash was a hundred feet away. The shooter had withdrawn and angled south down River Road.
Should I take him? Could I?

One, two, three. Reason, Hunter, reason.

The shooter had fired at least fifteen rounds. Fourteen at me and at least one into Kevin. Had Kevin returned fire? How many rounds did his semiautomatic have left? I was on turf all but forgotten, armed with a handgun that was perhaps near-empty. The shooter must have a high-capacity magazine with plenty of ammo to cut me to pieces. He’d already proven willing and capable of killing. He knew my location. I knew nothing.

Revenge would wait.

I sat back against the SUV’s tire and pulled Kevin close, keeping one arm around him and the other holding the handgun ready. The truck fire raged but was easing. The gasoline that had been splashed over it was consumed and only the paint and rubber were burning. Soon, though, the fire might breach the gas tank.

I opened my hand. He’d given me a small, ripped piece of heavy folded paper with handwriting scrawled on it. I couldn’t make out the writing and stuffed it into my pocket. “Kevin, what are you saying? Hold on. Dammit, hold on.”

My fingers found warm, sticky ooze soaking his shirt. The rain had slowed to a faint mist and, except for the river’s passing and the grumble of fire, there was only silence. Then, somewhere along the highway miles in the distance, sirens wailed.

“Hold on, Kevin. They’re coming. My God, hold on.”

I checked his pulse and wounds. Both were draining away life.

I pressed my hands into the ooze but couldn’t force its retreat. For a few seconds, I was fourteen again. The dull sickness invaded me as my parents were lowered side by side into the earth. The ache started in my gut and swelled until I spat bile and rage.

It was happening again.

The man who raised me—the man I’d abandoned—slipped away. The emptiness and loss attacked. I had to fight or it would destroy me again. This time, there was nowhere to run.

I closed my eyes and willed the anger in, commanding it to take hold and fill me.

I remember, Kevin. I made you a promise. I’m late, but I’m here.

He was limp, and I clutched him. A rush of words filled me that I’d wanted to say for so many years. But before I could speak just one, my brother was gone.

Follow Jonathan Hunter on his thrillers. You’ll like him. Unless you’re a bad guy … then, not so much.

Oh, the anticipation … the endless nights rethinking every line, every plot point, the beginning and ending and middling (is that a thing? Nope.) These past couple months have been a rollercoaster rise as I count down the days until The Consultant hits the shelves. My many author pals know what I mean. It’s that second guessing and endless “what ifs” that plagues you when your pub date nears. Did I end it right? Oh God, a reviewer didn’t give me 5-stars! Was it too complicated… too easy … too … crap, brain, shut up already! Stop!

This book is particularly important to me. Oh, not just because every book scares the hell out of me and makes me wonder if it’ll be my last to ever get published. No, it’s more about the genre and the publisher. My first three books, regretfully called The Gumshoe Ghost series (clearly not my idea) were never meant for publication and written for my daughter. But poof, there they went. They were fun and adventurous, and as much a surprise to me, gained me a lot of fans. Not tons, mind you, but a lot and they are wonderful fans, too. They come to see me at book events and remember me in comments and reviews. A couple even stalk me here and there. Cool right? My fourth novel, written as the Gumshoe series was unfolding, was a standalone that I thoroughly enjoyed writing—and reading myself, oddly enough. My amazing agent, Kimberley Cameron, sold it to a good independent publisher and off it went. These four novels were a great way to cut my teeth on becoming a published author. I learned a lot, in particular from my now-amazing personal book doc, Terri B. While these first four books didn’t bring me fame or fortune or even so many fans I can’t give out my email address, they did give me a great perspective on the industry and my own writing (and a few small successes and some great fans, too). I will forever be grateful for Midnight Ink and Black Opal publishers for putting my novels out there in the land of mystery.

Still, The Consultant is very special to me above all the others. It’s truly my wheelhouse of writing—thrillers—and it has been a labor of love through three different drafts spanning ten years. While it doesn’t resemble in any way draft one, that draft certainly gave me the characters and the general story line. The Consultant is also in my professional world—terrorism. Though I’m not the swashbuckling character, Jonathan Hunter, that world has been mine since I was in my twenties in one form or another. It’s my entre from paranormal mysteries into thrillers, and it’s a genre that has held my heart since I was fourteen. Above all, it’s the start of the Jonathan Hunter Thriller series that I get to put Hunter in a myriad of action-adventure crises battling terrorists, spies, and general evil-doers while still joking and cajoling his way through the pages. What I love about Hunter’s new series is that he gets to tell it in the first-person—a favorite writing style for me—so that he can show you the inside of some of the threats he faces. Like what terror in a small town means to the town and its people, what losing his family does to him, and what having a crusty, curmudgeon mentor poking and slapping him around is all about. Sure, there’s a dark side to Hunter’s adventures, but there’s the human side, too. That’s my favorite part of his stories.

Perhaps the most special part of The Consultant for me is what it’s brought to my writing world. First and foremost, it has opened the door to Oceanview Publishing, an amazing publisher with some heavy-hitting talent in its stable like D.P. Lyle, David Morrell, TJ Turner, Carter Wilson, Patricia Gussin, and Matt Coyle—just to name a few I’ve met. How tough is it to be in their company? I’m honored. In the year since I signed on with Oceanview, I’ve had more support, more discussions, and more guidance than I ever hoped for. I couldn’t be more pleased with being part of this group and for the teamwork they’ve provided me. For a new author still trying to get a footing in this crazy business, it’s been an amazing year.

Then there are my heroes. I’ve told this story before so I’ll not belabor it. When I was a teenager, I fell in love with a small book called Six Days of the Condor. To this day, it’s my—and I dare say millions of other fans—favorite thriller of all time. It was written by author-rock star, James Grady. James became my book-hero for ever. When my first novel, Dying to Know, came out, James actually IM’d me to both congratulate me and thank me for a blog in which I credited him with inspiring me all these years to write. Not only did he not have to do that, but he was so gracious and supportive I’ll never be able to repay him the kindness. So how blown away was I when James agreed to blurb The Consultant for me! Not just blurb it but this…

… Tj O’Connor is that rare thriller writer with both talent and street time in the worlds he rockets us readers through. O’Connor’s stories will pull you in and race you through plots that come from behind the headlines in our crazy world.

Oh … but that ain’t all. Another of my big-fav author-heroes is the incredible Christopher Reich. I had no way of contacting Christopher but I figure, hey, if James Grady didn’t get a restraining order on me, maybe Christopher wouldn’t either. Luckily, I had an ace in the hole—Tom Sloan, author of Bratva’s Rose Tattoo. Tom connected the dots for me and Christopher was both gracious and supportive with this blurb …

…The Consultant is a flat out, dynamite read. Fast paced, compelling, and all too real. O’Connor writes with authority and the pages fly by almost too quickly. My favorite kind of thriller, reminiscent of the best Ludlum and Forsyth.

Thank you, Christopher!

Perhaps those of you who are not authors don’t really see why this thrills me (pun intended). It’s because I can now die with a smile on my face. My first published thriller, with an amazing publisher, blurbed by two of my lifelong biggest heroes. How flipping cool is that?

Hence, why I don’t sleep at night. I fear I’ll let them down. Fear I’ll choke on the reviews or spin away into obscurity before I truly reach my writing-stride. I lie in bed with “What if … if only … Oh, shit …” on my brain.

The second book of the Jonathan Hunter Thrillers is with my editor. Book III has already begun. So, sure, I might not get the movie deal or the million-seller status we authors crave. But, I’m not done yet and won’t be until I’m dead.

We’ll talk again soon. Remember, Spring is coming …

A Rogue terrorism consultant.
His dead brother.
A beautiful Persian refugee.
Iran. Russian.
Terror. Fear. Prejudice.
America’s heading back to war. Someone has to stop it …
… The Consultant.

The Consultant—Coming in May 2018 from Oceanview Publishing. So, beware … Spring is Coming.

Getting ready for my debut thriller to release, I realize that some things never change. Do they? I’ve been in the anti-terrorism business since I was in my early twenties. That’s … thirty-five years ago? Gulp. Yep, a long damn time. In my early days, terror, fear, and the prejudice they brought was part of the cases I ran. I was a rookie military federal agent running criminal, counterintelligence, and anti-terrorism operations and dealing with the ugly side of life was part of it. Today, some three and a half decades later that ugly side of life is still a part of the job. The same things that spawned chaos then still do now.

But since I was a rookie agent, there’s only one thing that’s truly changed in all my years doing this work. Me. I’m older, grayer, and er, more robust (read that as fatter). Although I have to say, I’ve really not changed that much. I’m still an adventurer and still earn a living in this crazy security and anti-terrorism stuff. The important thing that has changed for me is that in addition to working in this crazy profession, I write novels about it. Oh, not the super-secret stuff or anything that requires my secret decoder ring. No, I value being on the outside of prisons and fully employed. I write about life as a consultant—my chosen profession—but from a totally fictional point of view—Jonathan Hunter, World Traveler Extraordinaire.

Jonathan Hunter is The Consultant. Here’s just a taste of his first adventure.

The gunshots took me by surprise and, without luck, might have killed me …

Jonathan Hunter, a rogue CIA consultant missing from his Middle Eastassignment, returns home to witness his brother’s horrific murder. For fifteen years, Hunter and Kevin Mallory were silent—until Kevin uttered his final words … Khalifah …not them … Maya … Launched into the hunt for Kevin’s killer, Hunter stumbles into a series of horrifying terrorist attacks—all at the hands of Middle Eastern refugees that sparks a backlash across the country and threatens another war. In the shadows, Hunter’s mentor—the omnipotent Oscar LaRue—is playing a dangerous game with Russian Intelligence. All the while, neither Hunter nor LaRue understand that a new threat—the Iranian threat—has entered the game. As stakes begin to rise, two shadowy players are one-step ahead of Hunter—Khalifah, a dangerous terrorist mastermind, and Caine, a nomadic assassin who only dances with the highest bidder. As the attacks escalate and the country drifts toward another Middle East war, innocent refugees become the victims caught between the terrorists and the terrorized. Prejudice, hate, and fear vent everywhere—is this who we’ve become? Before the country explodes, Hunter must find Khalifah, learn the target of the next terrorist attack, and pray he’s in time.

Now, for those who think Hunter is really me—I wish—I’d be lying if I didn’t say there were similarities with my life’s adventures. But just similarities. For instance, Hunter is a sarcastic, free-wheeling, and outspoken adventurer. My friends would call me similar things—smartass, rogue, and outspoken adventurer. Close enough. Hunter is also a consultant after leaving his first love, the CIA. I am and have been a consultant after leaving my first love, OSI. Not quite on the same plane but similar. Hunter’s life revolves around counter-terrorism. Mine revolves around anti-terrorism. He’s a former Green Beret, CIA operative, fortyish, suave, love-lost, and a rogue. And yep, that’s where the similarities end. Abruptly. I’m none of those things, well, except maybe a rogue at heart.

Hey, but I’m a Harley biker… Hunter isn’t! (Yet.)

While Hunter and I are distant cousins, the character is definitely not me full time. I’d say his view of life, his dialog are about 75% me. But who he was and is and what he does enters my world of fantasy and fiction. If it didn’t, I’d already be in jail. No, I was never a Green Beret and never worked for the CIA. I was an Air Force cop and a Special Agent with its OSI. Close but no cigar. Since OSI, I’ve been a consultant and have continued my life in the security and anti-terrorism world. I have had a life full of adventures that I am immensely both proud of and thankful for. I have met and worked with the most extraordinary people…some of the most consummate professionals who made me who I am – both good and bad. I have had the distinct pleasure and luck to have done things in places that most people only read about in books—with and for those extraordinary people. Today, those people are in my stories, hiding not so deep in my characters. They are not me, but they are who made me. Perhaps my life’s adventures aren’t as robust and daring as others – like the many pros I work with – but it’s been a hell of a ride so far.

So for the world surrounding Jonathan Hunter, I have had many role models. For the past twenty-something years, my mentor, Wally K., was the man behind Oscar LaRue, Hunter’s CIA master. Wally K was one of the last OSS Operatives from World War II and the former Deputy Director of CIA. He was my boss, friend, mentor, and best critic. I lost Wally two years ago to age and a bad heart. But he lives on now in The Consultant.There’s also a dozen former US Special Operators—Green Berets and Navy Seals—whom I have the pleasure of working with almost daily today. They are the bits and pieces that make up Hunter himself—the parts I cannot provide from my modest background. There’s one in particular, Mike P, who has been my constant advisor on all things Green Beret to make Hunter’s legend accurate and endearing. And of course, I’d be remiss in not mentioning the handful of former FBI, CIA, XXX, and others who make up the supporting characters Hunter encounters through the pages.

Oh, yeah, and the bad guys—my favorites! They’re the best. I get to take all the worst pieces-parts of the slugs and terrorists I’ve chased over the years and glue them all together to morph into Khalifah, Saeed Mansouri, Caine, and Colonel General Alexei Mikhailovich Fedorov—Hunter’s nemeses. I love these guys. Deep down, they’re really just misunderstood softies with a heart … not. They’re smart and cunning and evil and deadly. They are those bastards you read about in the news and see on the video feeds hating and killing and asking to be hunted. They are the adversaries of my youth and the evil that we face every day. They are pure and simple, bad guys.

So until Hunter hits the shelves in May, I’ll be blogging the backstory of my journey down memory lane developing the story, characters, subplots, and the thrill of landing The Consultant with Oceanview Publishing.

Until May, remember … Spring is coming.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. Tj’s debut thriller, The Consultant, is coming in May 2018 from Oceanview Publishing.

Tj is also the author of four mysteries with a paranormal twist—New Sins for Old Scores, Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell.

Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Labrador companions in Virginia where they raised five children.

New Sins for Old Scores is my latest murder mystery with a paranormal twist—the twist is that one of the lead characters is dead. Yup, read it again. He’s dead. And this story is packed with a band of characters, each with their own agenda, and each trying to either sin or settle an old score. A couple are doing both. The secret to the story is, as you might guess, who’s sinning and who’s settling scores. When you find out who’s doing both, you’ll know who the killer(s?) is/are.

You see, I’m one of those authors who plot out the story and ready a cast of characters to do my dirty work. Schemers and dreamers, haters and lovers, do-gooders and killers. Unlike most authors, there are also the present-day players and the historic players—dead ones, too.

Like you’ve probably heard other authors say, once I start writing, my characters takeover and do what they want. No really, it happens. I start out with a cast and each one has a story to tell—the story I plotted out for them. By the time I’m done with the first draft, they’ve gone their own way and created their own stories, often ignoring me completely. Some of them do a better job than I can, too. Some of them I had high-hopes for have become evil and dastardly and have gone and sinned on their own. Others, well, they are in the midst of settle scores that I didn’t even know existed.

Before I give you a snapshot of these page-players, let me explain what New Sins for Old Scoresis about—at least, on the surface:

Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And when it does, it’s the worst kind of murder.

Detective Richard Jax was never good at history. Now, after years as a cop, he was about to get the lesson of his life.

As Jax lay dying after being ambushed at an old inn on a stakeout, he’s saved by Captain Patrick “Trick” McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent. Trick has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder and prove he wasn’t a traitor. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders. The murders are linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe. With the aid of a beautiful and brilliant historian, Dr. Alex Vouros, Jax and Trick unravel a seventy year-old plot that began with Trick’s murder in 1944. Could the World War II mastermind, code named Harriet, be alive and up to old games? Is history repeating itself?

Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts, confronted by some of Washington’s elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick’s memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again.

Who framed Jax and who wants Trick’s secret to remain secret? The answer may be, who doesn’t?

New Sins for Old Scores is my fourth published novel. It was written a few years ago in the middle of another series I was writing—Oliver Tucker’s Gumshoe Ghost (I hate that moniker) mysteries. Since, I’ve also completed my thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect that will be out in May, 2018 from my new publisher, Ocean View Publishing. Each of these stories has been plot driven with strong characters that always have secrets to hide. In each, I provided the plot and my characters jump in and do the rest. Oh, I give them all names like Jax and Trick (New Sins), Tuck and Angel (The Gumshoe Ghost), and Jonathan Hunter who is The Consultant. With each of these, I drafted the outline and the characters drove the story chapter-by-chapter and character-by-character. By the end of my novels, the characters had become people I didn’t even recognize—the good ones and the evil ones. New Sins for Old Scores was no exception. Let me give you a peak at who’s who in my stories.

Special Agent Richard Jax and OSS Captain Patrick “Trick” McCall: New Sins centers on these two accidental partners joined in the chasm of 75 years. Jax must come to terms with being the chief suspect in a double murder. He’s lost his love, his best friend, his career, and perhaps his mind—he’s seeing and taking advice from the spirit of Capt. Trick McCall, after all. Yet, Trick doesn’t quite see their friendship as a problem what so ever. Sure, he’s dead and all, but he’s a 1940’s man and who else can help solve a 75 year old murder case? Especially when it’s his! Trick must adjust to the modern day—2011—with computers and cell phones, the internet, and of course, the casual, often risqué lifestyle of the 21st century. Both men are hunting killers. The question is, is it the same one?

Surrounding Jax’s homicide investigation is the Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigations (BCI) Task Force. Once his friends and colleagues, they’re now a collection of the trusted and the devious. First, there’s Mike Martinez, the BCI chief. He and Jeremy Levin—a Princeton Lawyer who oddly joined the state police—are under the spell of FBI Agent H.P. MacTavish. MacTavish is a duplicitous figure who arrived right after Jax’s ambush with claims of WWII treason and all the while hiding behind the veil of national security. Then there’s Detective Dylan Finch, a local sheriff’s deputy thrown into the mix. Finch clearly doesn’t want to be part of the circus. He doesn’t trust any of the BCI agents and while he’s worried about the BCI finding the killer, he has his own agenda that is more important. The wild card on the Task Force is Christie Krein. She’s young, pretty, smart, and doesn’t believe for a moment that Jax is a murderer. She also doesn’t believe he’s seeing ghosts. Throughout the story, each of these characters is hiding secrets and each has their own reason to be chasing the killer—or protecting him. They all have one thing in common: they think Jax is a little crazy.

Just when Jax thinks he understands what’s happening around him—Trick McCall included—Professor Alexandra “Alex” Vouros appears. Alex is as beautiful as she is brilliant, and yes, she has her own agenda, too. Alex is searching for evidence to prove or disprove Trick McCall’s innocence as a traitor and murderer back in 1944. She’s in league with John H. Singleton—one of the few survivors from Trick’s failed attempt to capture Harriet, the elusive double-agent responsible for smuggling illegal Nazi’s into the US during the war. Singleton, along with other OSS survivors, all have a stake in the outcome of Alex’s research. The trouble is each one wants a different outcome, for a different reason. Each is willing to do anything to get their way. Not all of them want Harriet’s true identity discovered. All of them want the past to remain in the past. Secret. Gone. Dead.

Finally, there is young Ameera, a pretty Afghani refugee being secreted from safehouse to safehouse by a gang of Latino thugs. She and her family are on the run and their only protection is the dangerous street gang, the Salvadorian Muchachos. Ameera faces danger at each turn and she’s not sure which is the most threatening, those hunting her or the Muchachosprotecting her. But she knows the secrets connecting 1944 and Richard Jax—who the murderer is and who was there to cover it up.

Now, after reading about these characters in New Sins for Old Scores, you might be thinking I’ve got too many characters. I don’t think I do. In a murder mystery, having too few makes it easy to figure out whodunit. Right? In New Sins, because of the historical subplots, you have to figure out whodunit now and whodidit then. So the more characters the better.

Of this band of characters—past, present, and those living and dead—there are those still sinning and those settling old scores. The question is—who’s who? The answer is not what you think.

For more on New Sins for Old Scores or my other paranormal mysteries, check out my world at www.tjoconnor.com

Bio

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. His new thriller, The Consultant will be out in the spring of 2018 from Oceanview Publishing. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children.

]]>The Real Sins in New Sins for Old Scoreshttp://tjoconnor.com/the-real-sins-in-new-sins-for-old-scores/
Thu, 03 Aug 2017 11:57:00 +0000Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And that, my friends, is the premise for my new murder mystery, New Sins for Old Scores from Black Opal Books.

My fourth mystery follows similar footsteps of my last series—a murder mystery with a paranormal twist that includes a historical subplot and a main character that is, well, living-challenged. Dead. Okay, yes, one of my main characters is dead.

Let me explain. Here’s the story’s summary:

Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And when it does, it’s the worst kind of murder.

Detective Richard Jax was never good at history. Now, after years as a cop, he was about to get the lesson of his life.

As Jax lay dying after being ambushed at an old inn on a stakeout, he’s saved by Captain Patrick “Trick” McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent. Trick has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder and prove he wasn’t a traitor. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders. The murders are linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe. With the aid of a beautiful and brilliant historian, Dr. Alex Vouros, Jax and Trick unravel a seventy year-old plot that began with Trick’s murder in 1944. Could the World War II mastermind, code named Harriet, be alive and up to old games? Is history repeating itself?

Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts, confronted by some of Washington’s elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick’s memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again.

Who framed Jax and who wants Trick’s secret to remain secret? The answer may be, who doesn’t?

There were several elements behind the plot of New Sins for Old Scores that combines fact-based history—perhaps with a few liberties here and there—with my imagination. First, Operation Paperclip was a real operation during World War II. The US, using the OSS—the forerunner of the Central Intelligence Agency—sneaked scientists and industrialists out of war-torn Germany and into the US to further the US’s advancements in the face of the growing Cold War with Russian. The Russians were doing it too. In truth, Operation Paperclip brought German rocket scientist Wernher Von Braun to the US. Von Braun had been the German pioneer behind Hitler’s famed rocket program—including the V2 rockets that threatened to devastate England and win the war for Germany. He had also been a Nazi. Through Operation Paperclip, Von Braun ultimately became the US’s leading scientist in our space program. To accomplish many of these relocations, the US “erased” or otherwise ignored the checkered past of these scientists and industrialists. Most were Nazi Party members that had participated or at least overlooked slave labor and other war crimes while they continued to support Germany’s war efforts. But their knowledge and skills were paramount to supporting the US in the growing Cold War against the Soviets—who had, of course, grabbed their own scientists and industrialist with the goal of burying the US entirely. German war spoils, including its people, were scooped up with the knowledge that another war would come between the allies that defeated Germany.

Now, I’m a history buff and the OSS and Operation Paperclip fascinate me. I was also an anti-terrorism agent with the US military during the first Persian Gulf War and understood both the complexities and shortfalls of war and its aftermath. So I began to wonder—in the Persian Gulf Wars, the US used countless contractors to support the war efforts. Those included companies with intricate ties to our intelligence community and Special Forces. The question I raised was—What if one of these contractors ran its own Operation Paperclip in the Middle East? What if they did it without the government’s knowledge and they did it for profit? Surely there were thousands—more—Iraqis, Afghanis, and others who would pay serious money to get out of the region and into the US—legally or illegally. What if this corrupt contractor took advantage and ran a human smuggling scheme similar to Operation Paperclip? And what if that modern day human trafficking caper wasn’t the first? What if back in WWII, some enterprising operatives ran their own trafficking ring to smuggle people out of Europe who the OSS might not have been interested in.

Viola, the basis for New Sins for Old Scores. Add a local Virginia detective who stumbled onto the caper, a couple murders, a heroic Arab girl, and a dead OSS operative and you’ve got a story.

This plot proves that history repeated itself quite nicely. In my story, Trick McCall discovered an illegal operation in 1944 to smuggle wealthy German’s out of Europe to the States for profit. He was killed for it. In 2011, Jax stumbles on another human trafficking ring and he was nearly killed for it. Together, they must find those responsible and prove that Captain Trick McCall was not a double agent for the Nazi’s and that Jax is not a cold-blooded killer.

So for New Sins for Old Scores, the story is based on facts—perhaps tainted with real sins too—with the US’s bringing Nazi scientists to the US and turning a blind eye to their misdeeds and complicity in war crimes. Along the way, good men and women died for those sins. New Sins for Old Scores shows that while time may go by and war becomes more and more sophisticated, evil keeps pace, and ultimately, it’s the basic failures of men who commit the worst sins. For Richard Jax and Capt. Trick McCall, those old scores surface again but with new sins. And if not for the repeating history, they would never learn the truth.

For more on New Sins for Old Scores or my other paranormal mysteries, check out my world at www.tjoconnor.com

Bio

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. His new thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect will be out in the spring of 2018 from Oceanview Publishing. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children.

]]>A Good Detective Can Be A Dead Detectivehttp://tjoconnor.com/a-good-detective-can-be-a-dead-detective/
Thu, 20 Jul 2017 14:04:00 +0000Since publishing my first paranormal mystery, Dying to Know, I’ve published three more. Two in the Oliver Tucker Gumshoe Ghost series (I loathe that moniker), and recently with New Sins for Old Scores. Both these series include a lead character that has some unusual flaws. In my travels and even on some blog responses and reviews, I occasionally get a few eye-rolls or snickers when I talk about my lead characters and how one of them is always living-challenged. Dead. I mean dead. One of my lead characters is always dead.So where is it written that characters in novels—the epitome of make believe and “not real”—have to be alive and breathing? No one giggles at science fiction or werewolf stories, right? So why are there some that think my having a dead detective is somehow a breach of some unwritten, secret handshake protocol?

A couple years ago, I had a reviewer say that he felt some of the things that Oliver Tucker did asked the reader to stray way too far from believability. He felt it detracted from my story and was to unrealistic. Really? Yet, Tuck being a dead detective didn’t bother him at all? Come on, have some imagination! Didn’t you ever see Ghost Hunters or Paranormal Lockdown? Ghost? Topper? Please, it’s a novel and it’s meant to be fun and mysterious and allow the reader to escape a little. Unless, of course, werewolves and vampires and invading behemoth amazon women is everyday life. If you start making rules like that, then most novels won’t qualify by someone’s definition of “reality.” I dare say that unless I’ve missed the news, old Agatha killed off more people in England than might have ever lived there. And whoa, now, Jessica Fletcher wiped out most of Main, Vermont, and New Hampshire three times over. Let’s just remember, characters are there to guide us, to tell their story, to entertain and thrill and perhaps even scare us. If they were always absolutely real to life and perfect, then crimes committed would be solved immediately—or never able to be committed in the first place. Our plots just wouldn’t work and stories would be dull.

No! I say dead characters are people too!

Let me explain my living-challenged characters in my two series—Oliver Tucker’s Gumshoe Ghost Mysteries from Midnight Ink, and my current series, New Sins for Old Scores (series not yet named, but let’s call it the Trick McCall Mysteries.

In the opening book in the series, Dying to Know, Oliver “Tuck” Tucker is killed and returns to hunt his own murderer. In each of the novels, there is a combination of a traditional murder mystery, a historical subplot, and a conclusion that culminates with a grander plot that revolves around Tuck’s long-dead family members who have all played significant roles in true historical events—serial killers, 1940’s mobsters, World War II OSS operations, etc. Throughout the stories, Tuck is a sarcastic, savvy detective who works with his widow, history professor Angel Tucker. Her contributions are only possible because of Tuck’s unusual “dead skills.” These skills are not what you see in the movies. They are a bit more unusual. Some of these skills allow him to relive past events of another story character, but only when he touches something personal or an object integral to the crime. For instance, in Dying to Know, Tuck touches a lost bracelet and it brings him to the murder scene where he watches a murder unfold that directly links, decades later, to his own demise. While Tuck is not clairvoyant and cannot instantly solve the murders through spook-visions, his dead-skills do enable him to bring historical clues and evidence into the light and see the crimes from other’s eyes. Along the way in the book, Tuck learns the ropes of being back among the living but not truly one of them. He narratives the stories and after just a few chapters, you’ll forget he’s a dead detective. He’s an integral character who brings a new twist to the traditional murder mystery. So his being a spirit contributes to the uniqueness of the story, but not as a “ghost story.” It’s simply a murder mystery with a paranormal twist.

The Trick McCall Mysteries—New Sins for Old Scores: In my latest paranormal mystery, Detective Richard Jax is ambushed at an old inn on a stakeout, he’s saved by Captain Patrick “Trick” McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent. Trick has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder and prove he wasn’t a traitor. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders. The murders are linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe to work for the US. Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts—aided by the beautiful and brilliant historian, Dr. Alex Vouros—and are on the trail of a killer. Along the way, they are confronted by some of Washington’s elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick’s memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again. In this story, Trick McCall is Jax’s spirited sidekick. His dead-skills are similar to Oliver Tucker, but not entirely. Again, Trick is not able to swiftly unmask any killers or have clairvoyance in the cases, but he is able to add new dimension to the mysteries. For instance, he likes to “share” people—possess them and allow relive events they’ve or perhaps he’s seen. While coming to terms with being a 1940’s man thrust in 2011, Trick’s indifference to computers and cell phones forces Jax to do things the old fashioned way—footwork and chasing clues. Trick is a sarcastic adventurer who still has a love of life—despite his present dead condition. His abilities to travel to other times and places and see events through other’s eyes gives Jax a view of crimes and events that help solve their cases—a paranormal twist that adds a different aspect to the traditional mystery.

So, as you can see, my living-challenged characters add a new twist to the traditional murder mystery. They allow me to connect my historic subplots to the modern-day murders and give the characters a view of those historic events to help solve the crimes. With a few exceptions, the characters do not act like the stereotypical ghost. They are active, engaged characters who mostly just talk and act like live, breathing characters. They don’t swish around and boo here and there. You’ll easily forget they are spirits—until they traverse the story’s timeline or “share” a character and bring the reader back 75 years to another time and another murder. Then, you’ll begin to understand the importance of my paranormal twists!

Remember, a good detective can be a dead detective.

We’ll talk again next time!

Note: My following blog post was written first for Laura’s Interests, a stop on my Great Escapes Virtual Book Tour. It was posted July 19. I’m reposting and providing a link to this great sight so you can check out the other stories and posts there … http://dogsmomvisits.blogspot.com/

]]>New Sins for Old Scores … Launch!http://tjoconnor.com/new-sins-for-old-scores-launch/
Thu, 04 May 2017 16:07:00 +0000May 27, 2017—Launch…. New Sins for Old Scores!

At last, my fourth published novel. This one coming to you from Black Opal Books and my strange, wild imagination. It’s a murder mystery with a paranormal twist! (Go figure, right?) And yes, this is a cheap self-promotion blog.

Summary:

Murder, like history, often repeats itself. And when it does, it’s the worst kind of murder.

Detective Richard Jax was never good at history. After years as a cop, he was about to get the lesson of his life.

As Jax lay dying after being gunned down at an old inn while on surveillance, he’s saved by Captain Patrick “Trick” McCall—the ghost of a World War II OSS agent—who has been waiting since 1944 for a chance to solve his own murder. Soon, Jax is a suspect in a string of murders—murders linked to smuggling refugees out of the Middle East—a plot similar to the World War II “Operation Paperclip,” an OSS operation that brought scientists out of war-torn Europe. With the aid of a beautiful and intelligent historian, Dr. Alex Vouros, Jax and Trick unravel a seventy year-old plot that began with Trick’s murder in 1944. Could the World War II mastermind, code named Harriet, be alive and up to old games? Is history repeating itself?

Together, they hunt for the link between their pasts, confronted by some of Washington’s elite and one provocative, alluring French Underground agent, Abrielle Chanoux. Somewhere in Trick’s memories is a traitor. That traitor killed him. That traitor is killing again.

Who framed Jax and who wants Trick’s secret to remain secret? The answer may be, who doesn’t?

End cheap, self-promotion (for now). Look for New Sins for Old Scores!

We’ll talk again next month.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS

BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, coming in May 2017 from Black Opal Books, and Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. He recently finished his new thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect and his amazing agent, Kimberley Cameron is finding it a new home. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying to Know is also the 2015 Bronze Medal winner of the Reader’s Favorite Book Review Awards, a finalist for the Silver Falchion Best Books of 2014, and a finalist for the Foreword Review’s 2014 INDIEFAB Book of the Year Award.

Nighttime belongs to mystery and intrigue—evil, too. I could say it belongs to love, but I write mysteries and thrillers, not romance novels. For me, I do my best thinking around midnight. I also do my best panicking and second-guessing. Don’t we all? It’s not unusual for me to be lying there (or sitting at my computer writing), plotting out a scene or another book and wham—God, in the 7th Grade, I insulted that sweet redhead, Becky. What was I thinking! Then back to my murder plot and … crap! I’ll never retire, I’ll have to work until I die and … now, where did I leave that last body in Chapter 12… dammit, why isn’t Pluto a real planet anymore? As the hours tick by, so does my split personality between story plots and lifelong regrets.

Raise your hand if you are with me on this–and don’t lie.

But something else happens after midnight, too—creativity. An unknown author once said, “3 AM is the hour of writers, painters, poets, musicians, silence seekers, overthinkers, and creative people…” I am clearly in the writers and overthinker columns. Of course, perhaps the best quote to describe me was by the hiphop group, the Initials, who wrote, “The Night Belongs to The Poet and The Madman.” Hmmmm, I’m no poet so … yup, madman. Nailed it.

Most of my novels were all given birth after midnight. New Sins for Old Scores was no exception.

I was lying awake one night a few years ago when I began writing New Sins for Old Scores, my latest paranormal mystery coming out in a couple months from Black Opal Books. A line came to me that sort of sums up the opening of the story and my permanent state of insomnia and creativity—of the lead character, Richard Jax, I wrote, “… history taught him a very important lesson—an axiom of parents with teenagers—that nothing good ever happens after midnight. Jax wasn’t married and had no children. But it was after midnight and he was alone.” Then, bam! A body—his body—blood, bullets, and bang-bang. The story unfolds.

The story follows the traditional mystery path to “the End” with a murder, finger-pointing, a few more bodies, deep dark secrets, twists and turns, the spirit of a long-dead OSS operative, and the capture of the bad guys. Well, perhaps the spirit of a long-dead OSS operative isn’t the traditional mystery path, but it can be with me. At least for this book it was. Most of this story was written between the hours of 9 pm and 4 am. In fact, most of my nine novels were written during those hours.

A lot of good can happen after midnight for me. I’ve learned a ton about writing over the past five years or so—patience, the ability to take a gut-punch (think critics, publishers, and barroom friendships), and perseverance. Mostly, though, I’ve learned a lot about myself and many of those lessons came in the late hours when I can forget about my real life and focus on my imaginary one—killing people and stopping international crisis. Okay, okay, so over the years my real life and imaginary life gets a little blurry, but you get what I mean. Late at night I love to take in the night air and let my brain go crazy. It’s a battle to ignore the forgotten appointments, lists of to-do things, and life’s worries (although I still accumulate a Picasso of yellow sticky notes by 5 am each morning). Still, I’ve learned that my inner demons thrive after lights-out, so I always have my cellphone handy and my note-application ready for an endless list of characters, plot twists, and action sequences I want to write. The dread of it all is that I must—like most of you—work for a living. Alas, I have to wait until the next night before I can put fingers to keyboard and craft those ideas into my stories. It’s painful sometimes, but like a vampire, daylight isn’t fun—work, bills, cooking, chasing the dogs, responsibilities …

Somehow, before the sun comes up each day, I catch 3-4 hours of sleep. That’s when I dream about my stories. Do you think I’m obsessed?

The moral to all this is know thy self—learn about your strengths and weaknesses and what works best for you. Don’t read blogs and go to seminars and panels and try to mimic what other authors do and say. There is no secret code to success (lord don’t I know)! Don’t fall into the trap of trying to fit yourself into a mold. Trust me, you’ll get stuck and have to fight your way out—or worse, you’ll be captive to seeking that infamous secret formula. No. I believe in using your love of the pen to learn about yourself—learn when the demons come out and when the voices in your head begin to make sense. Even if that’s after midnight.

Oh, and forget the tossing and turning about those bills and long lost friends and what-ifs. Those voices are just your ex-spouse or the IRS trying to make you crazy! Listen for the little whisper that starts after the lights go out and tells your characters what to do and say and where the story is going. And for God’s sake, pay attention!

We’ll talk again next month.

Tj O’CONNOR IS THE GOLD MEDAL WINNER OF THE 2015 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHERS BOOK AWARDS (IPPY) FOR MYSTERIES. He is the author of New Sins for Old Scores, coming in Spring 2017 from Black Opal Books, and Dying to Know, Dying for the Past, and Dying to Tell. He recently finished his new thriller, The Consultant: Double Effect,and his amazing agent, Kimberley Cameron, is finding it a home. Tj is an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife and Lab companions in Virginia where they raised five children. Dying to Know is also the 2015 Bronze Medal winner of the Reader’s Favorite Book Review Awards, a finalist for the Silver Falchion Best Books of 2014, and a finalist for the Foreword Review’s 2014 INDIEFAB Book of the Year Award.